


His Voice

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And much love, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Sherlock, Just a bit of humor and snark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 02:41:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: Sherlock's voice and John's heart.





	His Voice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brilliant_or_insane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilliant_or_insane/gifts).

> Inspired by Too Quiet by brilliant_or_insane on the idea that Sherlock’s is the voice that John hears above all others.
> 
> I apologize for not knowing the URL for the Archive that was required, so I gifted this to the author. I have a hard enough time getting a work posted EVERY TIME.

John stepped into the alley, straining to see through the murk into which just minutes earlier Sherlock had vanished. Before all hell broke loose. Now it was deadly silent. He moved with Captain Watson fully engaged, his every step deliberate, weapon at the ready, held low, against his thigh. 

On alert for shifting shadows as he reached the halfway point, the sick fear of losing Sherlock began its trek from gut to throat where it sat like a lump of ten day old clotted cream.

“Sherlock,” John mouthed, less than a whisper, and barely a breath. His heart raced, mounting an unconvincing argument against the need for silence, but he held back, and continued on.

Then it was there. The reply, floating on the inky air that tried to swallow him. “John.”

“Sherlock,” he mouthed again. “I’m here.”

“John.”

John edged forward, toward the sound, halting after each step to listen once more. 

“John.”

Voices of the night-time city, distant sirens, passing traffic drifted past him, smothering the silence he needed to hone in on the one voice. The only voice. His only voice.

“John.”

Step by cautious step, John advanced, too anxious, beating back his fear as he dared to call out to Sherlock in a voice just above a whisper.

An intermittent..something...wafted on the air. There, like a finger tapping, a soft echo following, just enough out of tune with his surroundings that it caught his attention. John stopped, tipped his head, closed his eyes and listened as the nearly inaudible sound curled in the depths of his hearing. Turning his body to his left helped to amplify the sound enough to draw him to a skip overflowing with debris. 

Moving closer still, he stood there, motionless, until a hand wrapped around the wrist holding his weapon, John tried to pull away.

“John.”

John dropped to his knees, allowing himself to be guided into a narrow recess in the wall. Once beside Sherlock, John startled a bit as familiar lips pressed against his ear.

“We are not alone.”

John mimicked Sherlock to reply against his ear. “You’re hurt?”

“No.”

“Doctor, remember? I can’t see it, but I can smell it.”

John could feel Sherlock smile against his ear even as the metallic odor of blood gave away Sherlock’s lie. He accepted the negative reply until he had visible data. 

“Just remember, if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English.”

John grinned in spite of himself and their situation, pressing a kiss to his temple. Deflection, what Sherlock always did when he was injured and tried unsuccessfully to hide it. He was at least lucid and quick with his mouth. 

“Lestrade?”

“On his way.”

John moved closer, resting his head against the wall. Sherlock groaned when he pressed closer.

“All right?”

“Hm.”

“It’s amazing how fast the world can go from bad to total shit storm.”

Sherlock chuckled softly, deep in his chest. John kept his best giggles to himself for later.

John heard the footsteps the instant Sherlock tensed beside him.  
He raised his weapon, ready for whatever happened next. Or so he thought.

Beams of light bathed the alley, flashing lights, thundering footsteps and shouted commands announced Lestrade’s arrival. When the shouting abated, John edged his way out, tucking his weapon into his trouser waistband at his back.

Once certain that it was safe, John cleared away the debris over Sherlock to allow him to stand. “All right?”

“Yes.”

“Let me have a quick look at you.”

Sherlock feigned annoyance with a huff. 

“That was good, Sherlock. Just don’t roll your eyes or we’ll have a domestic right here.”

That was where Lestrade found them. He shook his head slowly, a frown deepening his stern expression. “I swear you two will give me a heart attack one day. It’s a good thing you’re on the good list.

Sherlock attempted a grin that was more a grimace. “Don’t look for any redeeming qualities. I don’t have any.”

John’s smile was for Sherlock alone as he wiped away a bit of blood from his cheek, turning his head so Lestrade couldn’t hear. “You have me.” 

“There is that.”

“I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in my arse.”

“Oh, John, you always know how to make me feel cherished.”

“Come on, you bugger, let’s go home.”

“All right, you two. Sherlock, one day you’re going to get yourself...never mind. I’m just wasting my breath. You don’t take my advice, ever.”

“Greg, I was so intent on John’s endearing words, I forgot all about you standing there.”

“Thanks. Home with you now. John, will you take a ride?”

“I think we can walk it, yes, Sherlock?”

“Hm,” his mouth said, but his eyes told a different story.

John looked long and hard at Sherlock. He seemed more pale than usual. And was that a slight sheen on his lovely upper lip?

“Actually, Greg, I think we will take your offer of a ride, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Greg nodded. “Not at all. Be glad to. My car’s at the end of the alley. Follow me.”

**

During the short drive to Baker Street no one spoke. John supposed Greg was analysing the details of the last hours. Unwilling to interrupt the DI’s silence, he turned his attention to Sherlock, ticking off the obvious tension in his jaw, his rumpled brow, an arm held close to his body, and a slight tremor in his hands. John knew at once it was his shoulder, a possible dislocation by the shape of it. 

“We’re home, Sherlock. Let’s get upstairs so I can do some doctoring and examine your shoulder.”

Sherlock turned to him, misery etched into every crease of his beautiful face.

“Thanks for the ride, Greg.”

“Is he all right? He’s looking sort of peaky.”

“He will be. Come on love, I’ll help you.”

Once past the struggle to get out of the car, John walked on his right side, resting a hand on his opposite hip. He waved a hand over his head in thanks to Greg, then guided Sherlock to the door.

“I appreciate that you didn’t insist on A&E. I’m okay, John, really.”

John waited until they were safely inside and stood at the bottom of the steps before speaking. “Still a doctor, Sherlock. I think I can handle it. God knows I’ve handled most of your other calamities.”

Sherlock harrumphed just enough to showcase his displeasure with the situation and began the arduous ascent of the seventeen steps. John hovered close, his hand at the small of his back. On the landing, Sherlock paused for a moment to catch his breath. John hovered close.

“My chair, John.”

“Bedroom, I think, love. Just in case you faint.”

“I don’t faint, John.”

“For me? Please? I can’t carry you with that injured shoulder. You’ll be more comfortable lying down and I can better take care of you. Would you do that for me?”

Sherlock glared at him, but there was a tiny sparkle within the misery of those changeling eyes. 

“You needn’t flutter those fair eyelashes. Your word is enough.”

“That’s my love.” 

In the bedroom John reached for the flies of Sherlock’s trousers before allowing him to sit down. Noting he’d become more pallid than before, as if that were possible, John pushed the trousers off his hips and steadied him when he dropped to the bed with a sigh.

“Better?” John removed Sherlock’s shoes and socks and then the trousers from around his ankles, all the while keeping a keen eye on him for signs of syncope.

“Yes.”

“You’re tensing and trembling a bit, love. Take a few deep breaths while I-”

“Don’t cut it off, John. Please, John. You love this shirt.”

“I would never cut off this aubergine shirt. It’s your love shirt. I love your love shirt, but I love you more.”

“Really, John? Honestly sometimes your grammar is horrendous.”

John quickly unbuttoned the shirt, slipping it off the injured left shoulder without jostling his trembling patient. 

“The better to distract you my little numpty. Calm...”

“I am calm. I’m always calm...mostly...sometimes...when I’m cuddling with you.”

“There’s my love muffin. There we go, just let the shirt lay over your elbow while I examine, a little press..right here, oh, very good, just as I’d hoped.”

“What’s good? It hurts.”

“It’s not a dislocation, rather a subluxation. Still painful, thought. Tell me how this happened?”

“Oh, for god’s sake, get on with it. It is extremely painful, John. Can’t I explain after you’ve fixed it?”

“Sherlock. I need to know how it happened so I-”

“Hyper-extension, John,” Sherlock gritted out through clenched teeth. He attempted to raise his right arm above his head as if to recreate the position, but apparently thought better of the move when his injured arm lost its support. “I grabbed the edge of the skip to stop my fall, but I slipped on something disgusting and went down at an awkward angle anyway, putting the full weight of my body on my shoulder before I could release my grip.”

“Okay, that will help.”

“Thank you, now will you do your magic? Please?”

“All right. Sit back a bit and a little closer to the pillow so it will cushion your..”

Sherlock scowled at him. “Again, John, I don’t faint.”

“Right.”

“Would you like me to explain what I’m doing before I actually do it?”

“No, I know what to expect. Please, just do go on. I trust you.”

John’s conversational distraction seemed to be working. Mostly. “That’s good to know. All right. I’m going to count to three and on three, I’ll relocate.”

“On three,” Sherlock repeated just as his body tensed. He swallowed hard, looking up at John with a hint of panic. “John, my fingers are tingling, going numb a bit.”

“That’s not unusual. Once I’ve relocated it, you’ll feel pricklies when the blood returns.”

“Pricklies? Is that a medical term?”

“Yes, love, it is.”

John rested his right thumb on the shoulder joint and began a gentle massage. Taking hold of Sherlock’s elbow elicited a sharp inhale from his patient. More from anticipation than pain, he guessed.

“One. Two.”

There was no three. John easily relocated the shoulder with gentle persuasion. 

“You lied...you said...on three, Jo-un.”

Sherlock pitched forward, his forehead resting on John’s shoulder. Gently and quickly, John eased Sherlock’s head onto the pillow, and lifted his legs to the bed, adjusting his body for maximum comfort and tucking a small pillow beneath his shoulder for more support. As John pulled the sheet and duvet up under his chin, Sherlock opened his eyes.

“John?” 

“I’m here, love.”

“What happened?”

“Um, syncope?” John averted his gaze for a moment.

Sherlock opened his mouth to deny, John was sure, but clamped it shut and stared at the ceiling.

John gingerly lowered himself to sit beside Sherlock, tucking the bedding more firmly around him. Leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his lips allowed John a few moments to gather his thoughts.

“It’s all right. I don’t think any less of you for fainting. Subluxations are just as painful as dislocations, but less damaging. What you need to do now is relax so that the muscle spasms calm down.”

“I’m-”

“Sherlock, whatever you were going to say...I know you’re uncomfortable and we’re both tired, so let’s-”

“I’m behaving like an irritable child, I’m sorry, John.”

“Only a tiny bit, but that’s okay. I like it when you’re a bit needy. Makes me feel...need-ed?”

Sherlock finally smiled and John’s heart skipped in his chest.

“Um, we still have Mrs Hudson’s hot water bottle. There’s paracetamol or ibuprofen for pain. I recommend we try the heat first to relax the spasms, then move on to one of the others if you need it.”

“You’re the doctor.”

“I’ll fashion a sling for you and a strap to keep your shoulder immobile for trips to the loo. Other than that, you’re to stay in bed until at least tomorrow.”

“All right.”

“For dinner I’ll order Chinese from that place you like.”

“Thank you, John, but no chopsticks.”

“Right. I’ll get the water bottle. Be right back.”

At the door, John turned back to let his gaze rest on Sherlock’s face. Sherlock looked up just then. They both smiled.

**

When dinner was finished and John had done a quick washing up while Sherlock dozed, he returned to the bedroom and quietly searched the wardrobe for an old jumper he hoped Sherlock had not used for an experiment. He grinned to himself when he found it pushed to the back.

“There you are, you bugger. Managed to escape the hand of the mad genius chemist, did you?”

He stood, turned toward the bed and found Sherlock watching him, sitting up on the edge of the bed. 

“You should be lying down.”

“My bladder tells me otherwise.”

“Oh. Okay then, do you need help?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Can you wait while I fashion the sling or is this an emergency?”

“Will the support make it easier?”

“You’ll have a free hand, I mean you’ll be able to do...stuff because the sling will support your shoulder. Um. I’ll shut up now.”

“You are adorable when you’re ruffled, although I don’t quite understand why you are blushing. We’ve been together for three years now and as my love and my doctor you know I have nothing you haven’t seen hundreds of times. And, no, it’s not an emergency, but soon.”

John dropped to the floor, wriggling between Sherlock’s knees. “Are you warm enough?”

“At this moment, yes. Ignoring me won’t work, John. We’ll talk later?”

John tied the sleeves of his old oatmeal jumper behind Sherlock’s neck. “Behave, love,” he warned, struggling to hold back a smile. In just minutes he had the jumper folded, tucked and fastened with surgical tape from the first aid kit.

Sherlock pressed his forehead to John’s. “Yes, John.”

**

It was nearing midnight when John finally slipped under the duvet next to Sherlock. “Number?”

“At the moment, two. Just mild twinges. As long as I don’t move it, it’s good. The water bottle is helpful as well.”

“You’ll wake me if you need anything? Anything at all? And promise you won’t try to get up for the loo.”

“I promise.”

John pulled the sheet and several blankets to Sherlock’s chin.

“All right?”

“Toasty, but I need you closer.”

John pressed his body tight against Sherlock’s side, resting an arm across his chest and his nose into the hollow beneath his ear. 

“Hm. Nice.”

“It is, John, very nice.”

A sliver of light from the loo door that stood ajar illuminated just enough to dispel the total darkness of the room.

As he listened to Sherlock’s soft breathing beside him, John let his thoughts wander back to those moments in the alley, how he’d feared the worst until the moment Sherlock folded his elegant fingers around his wrist.

“I was afraid, John.”

“Yes. I felt it.”

“I knew you were near, but I couldn’t risk calling out to you, not even in a whisper.”

John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s ear. “I heard you, love. I will always hear your voice, no matter where I am. And if..” John’s own voice failed him for a moment. “If my ears don’t hear your voice, my heart will.” 

“I know,” Sherlock’s reply was barely a breath, more a sigh.

With his heart, John heard.


End file.
